


Of Burgers and Briefcases

by horror_business



Series: The Way To A Man's Heart Is Through His Stomach. [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Food Truck Owner!Mickey, Homophobic Language, Lawyer!Ian, M/M, Rating May Change, Sexual Content, Slurs, food truck au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horror_business/pseuds/horror_business
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Keep in mind that Ian doesn’t get flustered easily, he’s a lawyer for god sake he has to be confident and strong willed, but this guy gave him butterflies in his stomach immediately. Pale, dark hair, piercing artic blue eyes and scowl painted firmly across his face. He was intimidating and fucking gorgeous in all the right ways and Ian couldn’t fucking concentrate. What was he ordering? What the fuck is he doing with his hands? What do people do with their hands?! Is he staring? He's staring.</i>
</p><p>Or the one where Mickey owns a food truck and Ian is a love struck idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Briefcases

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really know much about how the legal system and lawyers work, there probably (definitely) isn't a crossover between practicing corporate/marriage/criminal law like depicted here but...oh well.  
>  _Italics_ are Ian's internal monologue.

Ian wanted to slam his face off the desk. Break his own nose, bust his own lip and bloody up these damn papers that he’s been staring at for three weeks now. He was frustrated, hungry, confused, hungry, tired, hungry and pissed off. He had been working on writing up these contracts for a big company merger for a month now and these corporate assholes couldn’t agree on a single god damn thing. This would be the third time Ian has had to rewrite this fucking thing and he was ready to light the papers on fire and roast some marshmallows over the flames.  
  
This was the first real big contract he had been hired to work on. Three years out of law school and one internship later he had managed to get a position working for a small firm in Chicago. It wasn’t glamourous, they mainly worked prenuptial agreements, wills and divorce proceedings so why these big companies went to a firm like them doesn’t make sense. They had the money for big time lawyers, but the corporate tight wads probably just wanted someone who was willing to work the contract for a cheaper price.  
  
All Ian knows is they weren’t being paid enough to work with these assholes. Throwing his pen down onto the desk and aggressively rubbing his eyes Ian decided he needed a break. Well, actually the rumbling of his stomach decided he needed a lunch break and maybe a beer or six. He needed to escape the confines of his small cluttered office and maybe, maybe, he would be able to think better.  
  
He needed food and he needed it fast. He usually makes his own lunch and brings it to work, but this morning he barely managed to make the 8:50 train to downtown so his lunch and breakfast were left abandoned in the fridge. Fast food wasn’t an option, how they can even label it “food” was beyond him but he wasn’t about to put it in his body.  
  
Pushing away from the desk and rolling up his sleeves he walked over and opened up his office door. He instantly smelled something delicious, hearty and greasy and he needed it. He walked over to the secretary’s desk (Kayla? Tayla? He doesn’t remember, she’s new) and saw that she was eating a burger that looked like heaven on a bun. He would murder for that burger right now.  
  
“Where did that come from?” Ian asked, maybe a tad too aggressive. He was “hangry” damnit and he wanted that burger.  
  
“Umm—Jeff said it was fine to eat at my desk, I-I’m sorry.” Kayla/Tayla nervously responded.  
  
“No- shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude. I literally want to know where that burger came from because I am starving and it smells and looks absolutely delicious.”  
  
Kayla/Tayla exhaled and smiled softly. “Oh um…there’s a food truck that’s about seven blocks north. It’s so good, it’s called Mickey's Mega Burgers. They have burgers and sandwiches and stuff. The options are crazy. Gotta go quick though! He only stays there for about two hours before he moves further downtown for the dinner rush.”  
  
Ian barely heard the end of her sentence with how he essentially sprinted towards the door. Walking briskly down the sidewalk, he took a few deep breaths, enjoying the spring air and loving the fact that he didn’t have to bundle up under fourteen layers of clothes to stave off the cold that seeps into your bones during Chicago winters. Passing by local shops and people cranking cigarettes waiting for the bus, he felt the tension slowly, slowly slip away from his neck and shoulders incrementally. He was outside, it was sunny, he wasn’t staring at those fucking contracts and he was about to devour a delicious burger. You gotta find the positives sometimes.  
  
He only had to walk for about five minutes until the food truck came into view. It was a dark orange and had "MMB" in bold letters on the hood. The awning over the window was a simple black and white striped pattern. The grill on the front was rusted a little and there was sizeable dent in the hood. The van wasn't elaborately decorated besides the logo on the front and sides, nothing that would catch your eye walking down the street. Hopefully the food spoke for itself. The line wasn’t that long thankfully, Ian didn’t know how long he could wait until he started gnawing off his own fingers and it gave him time to look over the menu plastered to the side of the truck next to the order window.  
  
Kayla/Tayla was not lying about the options because holy fuck how could you even fit some of this shit on a burger? There was one called the Artery Clogger which was a beer-bettered and deep-fried burger with bacon, bbq sauce and American cheese. There was literally something called the Kitchen Sink which had ten items on it including three different cheeses. There was a small section for vegetarian options and they even offered some chicken sandwiches. Each order came with a complimentary side of small fries.  
  
Okay…okay Ian needed to focus. He wanted greasy, he wanted hearty but he didn’t want a whole week’s worth of calories in one meal. He could build his own burger which was an option, but that was too much pressure for his first time here. Scanning the menu a few more times he finally decided on the Bruschetta Burger which included tomatoes, basil, extra virgin olive oil, a basil pesto mayo and provolone cheese.  
  
The line was moving quickly but it gave Ian time to take out his phone and check his emails. He had been avoiding his inbox lately because he was dreading a new update from the big company he is drafting the contract for. They send him four fucking emails daily, wanting to add a new stipulation, a new price negotiation. It was exhausting. He's told these people so many times they need to come in to see him to even speak about the contract, but they can't get that fact through their thick skulls. Luckily, they hadn't sent him anything new all day but there was a new email in there from one of his old clients; a rich North Side asshole who is on his third wife and needs a new prenup drafted before he marries the next gold digger. Poor sucker will never learn.  
  
“Next!” Ian heard yelled in the distance.  
  
Ian, not noticing he was the only one left to order, continued scrolling through his inbox, firing off a quick response to prenup guy.  
  
"I said next!" he heard said again with a little more bite. Jerking his head up, Ian looked towards the window to the food truck.  
  
Keep in mind that Ian doesn’t get flustered easily, he’s a lawyer for god sake he has to be confident and strong willed, but this guy was gave him butterflies in his stomach immediately. Pale, dark hair, piercing artic blue eyes and scowl painted firmly across his face. He was intimidating and fucking gorgeous in all the right ways and Ian couldn’t fucking concentrate. What was he ordering? What the fuck is he doing with his hands? What do people do with their hands?! Is he staring? He's staring.  
  
“Hello! Is anyone home?” The man snapped while waving his hands in front of Ian’s face. “The fuck do you want?”  
  
Ian blinked roughly and cleared his throat. _Fucking get it together, Gallagher._ “Shit yeah sorry, rough day." He said sheepishly "Can I get the Bruschetta Burger and a bottle of Coke please?” He responded, running his hand through his hair.  
  
“Ten seventy seven.”  
  
“What?” _Fucking focus, what the fuck?_  
  
“Your total is ten fucking seventy seven, or are you used to getting everything for free, pretty boy?” The guy, who Ian assumed was Mickey, spat with his eyebrows raised dangerously close to his hairline.  
  
Pretty boy? What the fuck. This guy is an asshole, how the fuck does he manage to stay in business?  
  
“Because my burgers are fucking good. Fork over the cash or starve, shithead.”  
  
_Fuck, did I say that out loud? Fuck, I did. What is wrong with me?_   “I’m so sorry shit, I’m having a rough--“  
  
“Yeah, a rough day, I heard."  
  
Ian handed over $11 and graciously put the remaining thirty three cents in the tip cup while Mickey yelled to the other person in the truck to "start the fucking order." Hopefully this guy won’t spit in his food or rub his ballsack all over the bun before handing Ian the bag, he would deserve it after the fiasco.  
  
He stepped over the side and tried to swallow his embarrassment. He hadn't lost his cool around a guy like that in a long, long time. Ian had no issues in the men department, he was good at flirting and he knew he was attractive. But this guy made him nervous and lightheaded and all he was doing was trying to order a fucking burger from this beautiful asshole. It shouldn't have been that difficult. Ian was just so enraptured by the guy's gruff personality and take no shit attitude. And those fucking eyes, Ian could drown in them and be happy.  
  
Roughly six minutes later, Ian's order number was being called and he went back up to the window. Mickey had his palms laid flat on the counter top with his vulgar knuckle tattoos on full display. Ian's doggy bag and bottle of Coke were sitting in front of him. Grabbing the bag and mumbling a quick but effective "thanks" he shuffled away from the truck as quickly as possible, trying not to embarrass himself more and failing to ignore the heat radiating from Mickey's eyes.

He got back to the firm and didn't say anything to Kayla/Tayla on the way to his office. Throwing the bag down onto his desk he sat in his chair and rubbed his temples roughly. Well, he could never go back to that fucking food truck again no matter how amazing the burger turned out to be.  
  
Exhaling a loud breath, he pushed the contract papers away from him and unloaded the bag. The burger was huge and it smelled absolutely delicious, his mouth was already watering at the sight. The cheese was dripping down the sides, the bun was perfectly toasted and the small taste he had of the basil pesto mayo was amazing.  
  
At the bottom of the bag underneath his container of fries there was small piece of paper with the MMB logo on it. It was a coupon for a free burger and on the back in barely legible handwriting it said "For the next time you have a rough day."  
  
Ian's smile stretched across his face and didn't disappear the whole time he ate his burger, which by the way, was fucking delectable.  


* * *

  
How long is an appropriate amount of time to wait before you look desperate? Because Ian was ready to go back to the food truck the next day and the delicious food was not his motivation.  
  
His alarm clock gave him a heart attack nearly ten minutes ago, but he couldn't get out of bed. He laid under his two blankets and stared at the slowly rotating ceiling fan, the only movement coming from the rise and fall of his chest.  
  
He had a rough time sleeping that night and the extra cups of coffee and late night at the firm weren't to blame. He kept having dreams of plump pink lips and penetrating blue eyes. It kind of made it difficult to sleep when you get woken up every hour gasping and sweating and hard as a fucking boulder. He had only been around this guy for a total of ten minutes and it was already fucking with his concentration at work and at home. This was not good.

Mickey probably wasn't even gay. Ian's gaydar has always been a little off and it was difficult to pinpoint gay men outside the comfort of Boystown. He has been too hopeful in the past only to get hurtfully shot down and insulted, so he doesn't like to get too excited anymore. And since this guy was already permeating his every thought it would probably be best if he tried to force himself to assume Mickey was straight.  
  
Besides, with that terrible first interaction from yesterday, Mickey probably wouldn't even be interested even if he did like dick. Not when Ian made himself out to be a fucking idiot who can't even order a god damn burger.  
  
But maybe he didn't make as terrible a first impression as he thought he did? Mickey didn't seem like the type of guy who would hand out free burger coupons to people who piss him off. Punches and sharp words maybe, but not coupons. Maybe Mickey saw something he liked during their short, embarrassing interaction? Or maybe he was just being polite? _Jesus, nice people exist in this world, Ian._

Grabbing his phone to check the time, he sighed dramatically and threw the blankets off him and put his feet on the cold floor. He aggressively rubbed the sleep from his eyes and heaved himself out of bed as if he was made of brick. If he hurried he would be able to catch the 8:20 train to downtown and make it work on time so Jeff wouldn't be on his ass anymore than he already was. The deadline for the third contract negotiation was in three days and Ian was barely half way through.  
  
Showering and shaving quickly, he went to the closet to pick out his outfit for the day; black slacks, hunter green button down and a black tie. He knew he would end up going to the food truck for lunch (his self control was seriously lacking and he had no time to make lunch) and he knew he looked fucking good in green.  
  
Grabbing the apartment keys and his messenger bag bursting with contract papers, he raced down the street and barely made it in time for the train.  
  
As the city was whizzing past, he tried to think of work, about this big contract that Jeff had trusted him enough to draft up...for the third time. He just had a few more things to iron out and write up and hopefully he would be done by tomorrow. He wasn't going to get anything done if he couldn't shake the image of blue eyes and dark hair out of his mind.  
  
No, definitely not good at all.  
  


* * *

  
Ian had managed to power through four hours of work before he even thought of Mickey, the rumbling in his stomach was a fierce reminder of that man. In those four hours he had consumed three cups of espresso, two cigarettes, one and a half package of peanuts and completed a large chunk of the contract. He was feeling confident and relaxed and figured this was an appropriate time to stop and regenerate his motivation.  
  
He left the office (but not before checking himself over in the bathroom mirror) and headed out to grab lunch. Walking down the sidewalk, he had a dumb smile on his face and tried to rehearse his opening line in his head like a fifteen year old on his first date. So far, the best he came up with is "do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"  
  
Looks like he's gonna have to wing it.  
  
When he arrives at the food truck, surprisingly no one was in line. It was the perfect time to try and fix the way he presented himself yesterday, to try and talk with Mickey, maybe flirt with him instead of looking like a bumbling asshole with shit for brains. He will not be as distracted as he was the day prior.  
  
Instead of seeing Mickey at the window, he saw a Mickey look-a-like. Same dark hair, piercing blue eyes and pale skin, but with tits instead of a dick. She was gorgeous, but definitely not the person that Ian was looking forward to running in to. Sighing dejectedly and failing to hide the disappointment on his face, Ian walked up to the window. He was already here might as well get some lunch.  
  
"Looks like someone pissed in your Wheaties over there, Red. Bad day?"  
  
"No not really, I was just uh--kinda hoping I'd be seeing someone else working here today."  
  
"Who? Mickey?" the girl asked.  
  
Ian barely nodded and tried to force the blush away from his cheeks. The girl snickered lowly, and the snicker turned into a full blown laugh. She was laughing so hard tears started forming in the corner of her eyes.  
  
Ian frowned at her. "What's so damn funny?"  
  
"Nothing--" she gasped out, wiping her eyes "Relax. It's just that I have never seen anyone that upset over the fact that Mickey _wasn't_ around before. Ever. Shit, people usually jump for joy when that fucker isn't around."  
  
"That's a little fucked up."  
  
The girl shrugged. "Yeah, well, Mickey's a little fucked up. I'm Mandy by the way, Mickey's sister. "  
  
"Ian, burger enthusiast."  
  
Mandy smiled. "Alright Ian, were you interested in getting something to eat, or were you just looking for a little eye candy?"  
  
Ian chuckled, he liked her a lot already. She was brash and unapologetic, but she seemed a little more easy going than Mickey and he had barely interacted with either of them.  
  
"Well, the eye candy was the main motivator for my visit, and you don't disappoint, but you're not really my type. So I might as well order a burger." He replied cheekily.  
  
Mandy grinned devilishly. "So what can I get for ya?"  
  
"Well, I have this coupon here for a free burger, so I figured I'd get the biggest, most expensive burger you got."  
  
"Let me see that." Mandy demanded. Ian handed over the coupon and Mandy turned it over to read the writing on the back. A small smile formed on her face as she handed the card back to Ian.  
  
"Nah, save that coupon for another time, I have a feeling Mickey gave it to you for a reason, so get something cheap." She smirked.  
  
Ian cocked his eyebrow and had about twenty questions running through his mind, mainly _what the fuck_ because that comment is not going to help him on his quest to believe Mickey is straight. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and ordered a chicken club sandwich and a water.  
  
He talked with Mandy while the other man in the back went to work preparing the order. She explained that she worked at the truck twice a week so Mickey could have some days off, even though apparently he checked in every thirty minutes anyway ("Like it's seriously that difficult to take peoples cash and hand them some food, fuckhead needs to start takin' at least ten Valium. Daily.")  
  
"So...do you know Mickey well?" Mandy asked with a small diabolical smirk on her lips. Not one for being subtle apparently.  
  
"Uh--no, not at all actually. I came here for lunch yesterday and I made a very awful first impression. Was gonna try and rectify that today."  _Okay, you creep._  
   
"Mickey is the king of terrible first impressions. I'm sure it wasn't even that bad."  
  
"Well, I did manage to call him an asshole and insult his business prowess."  
  
Mandy chuckled lowly and shook her head. "He doesn't _have_ any business prowess. He's lucky he even managed to get this shit mobile working. And he _is_ an asshole, so you didn't tell him anything he doesn't already know. Stop worrying about it, you didn't ruin your chances." She grinned. _Ian, you are transparent as fuck._  
  
Once the food was ready he said goodbye to Mandy and turned to head down the street.  
  
"Hey! Ian!" He heard and turned around to see Mandy leaning out of the window, fingers curled around the counter to pull herself up. "Mickey will be back here tomorrow if you wanna use that coupon." She winked dramatically and slid back into the truck.  
  
Ian smiled and kept walking. He would definitely be returning tomorrow.  
  


* * *

  
Ian was anxious. He was a nervous fucking wreck. His heart was going a hundred miles an hour and his palms were so sweaty he swears they were dripping. He finished that huge contract at 2am in the morning. He should have slept at his desk with how late he stayed there.  
  
They were presenting the contract to the two companies today, for the third time, and if they didn't like what was offered the companies were going to take their money elsewhere, probably pay for more competent lawyers who actually specialize in this shit.  
  
Jeff had made it perfectly clear that if this contract negotiation didn't go well this time around, Ian would be back to paralegal status. Preparing all the documents and research for Jeff, basically being his bitch. Ian did not spend years of time and brain cells in law school to be essentially be a lap dog. This was his career on the line god damnit and he wanted this last contract presentation to go smoothly.   
  
So yeah...needless to say he was nervous. He wore his best suit today trying to make a good impression; black jacket, black slacks, pale blue undershirt and a black and grey tie. He hated suits. He could wear the tie and the button down, but he absolutely hated wearing the jackets. Sure, he knew he could rock the hell out of good suit, but the jackets felt constrictive and stuffy. Unfortunately, he had chosen a career path where suits were the norm.   
  
He walked into the firm and shot a nervous smile in KaylaTayla's direction and tried to slink past Jeff's office before he noticed him. He had just touched the handle to his office door when he heard Jeff from behind him, "Ian, can I see you in my office for a moment?"  
  
Fuck. He was so close. Sighing and turning around he made his way over to Jeff's office.   
  
"Please, take a seat." Ian placed his messenger bag down beside him and sunk into the chairs in Jeff's office. They were very plush and comfortable and if this conversation was going where he thinks it was, he needed all the comfort he could get. He wanted to exude confidence, but since he was fidgeting with his hands and looking at anything but Jeff's eyes he portrayed the exact opposite. He needed to get his shit together if he wanted to present this contract today.   
  
"Alright Ian, I know you know that Mr. Hughes and his associates are coming in around 11 today to review the contract you finished last night. I had the oppurtunity to look it over this morning..."  
  
Oh fuck, here it comes. He's getting fired. Or demoted. At this point he didn't know which one he would prefer. Getting fired meant that he couldn't use this firm on a resume for future jobs and people are very hesitant to take on lawyers that don't have experience. Getting demoted was so demoralizing. He earned his degree to practice law, damnit, he didn't take some shitty online course to become a paralegal. He was better than that.   
  
"and honestly, it looks good. Better than the other two you had drafted up. You took both sides into consideration and I feel like you have drafted a solid compromise that both companies should be happy to agree with. Good work. Corporate law can be tricky and I know it's not what you specialized in, hell nothing we do here is what you specialize in, but you've been doing a great job here and I thought you should know that. I know this job isn't the easiest, especially as fresh out of law school as you are. It's tough the first few years, hell I was struggling for about six years until I found my groove. But you're going to be a great criminal lawyer when you get to that next step. I'm proud to have you practice here for your first few years."  
  
Well...that certainly wasn't the conversation that Ian was expecting to have when he came into Jeff's office two minutes ago but it certainly was the confidence boast he needed for the meeting this afternoon.   
  
"Thanks Jeff, that really means a lot. I appreciate you giving me a chance here." Ian replied.   
  
"You're welcome, kid. Now get outta here and get your presentation prepared."  
  
Ian smiled and grabbed his bag from the floor and walked over to his own office. He was ready was kick this contract presentation in those companies pretentious asses.  


* * *

  
It was 1:30pm, two and a half hours since Mr. Hughes and his associates came into the office. Plenty of coffee has been offered and a lot of cigars have been smoked in that time. But finally, fucking finally, they have agreed on the terms of the merger. Ian was ecstatic. He finally didn't have to work on this godforsaken contract (and if he's lucky any corporate contracts) ever again. 

Strolling out of the office and out into the crisp air, Ian couldn't be happier. It was a beautiful day, spring had arrived in full force. It was warm enough that he could take off that suffocating suit jacket, roll up his shirt sleeves and enjoy the slightly warmer air that had just a bite of cold still grasping on to it. It might have been the good mood talking, but he thought that the signing of the contract during spring was a sign of sorts, as cliche as that sounded. Everything around him was getting a fresh start and new life was budding and blooming everywhere and Ian felt like his career just got a jump in the right direction and his optimism about the future was rejuvenated. He honestly felt ready to take on the fucking world.   
  
Walking down the street to the food truck, even from far away he could see that Mickey was there. Ian didn't visit the food truck for two days trying to finish that contract in time and he was worried that today would be one of Mickey's off days. He hadn't seen Mickey since that disastrous first encounter and he was determined to make a good impression this time around. He was positive that today was going to be better. He wasn't distracted this time. He was granted some luck today and he was hoping it hadn't expired yet.   
  
He got in his spot at the back of the line and looked over the menu again. He's using that coupon today, so he was fully intending on abusing the whole "free" deal. He decided on getting the Loop Burger which came with bacon, honey bbq sauce, american cheese and fucking beer battered onion rings on it. How does Mickey think of this shit?  
  
From the looks of it, it appears that Ian isn't the only person that Mickey is rude too. This poor guy at the front of the line apparently didn't think about what he was ordering before he got to the window and Mickey was all eyebrows and sharp insults. Ian snorted when he heard a clipped "today grandpa" grunted in the customers direction.   
  
Holy fuck what if Mickey gives out the coupons as a way of apologizing to people? Like he feels bad about his rude remarks and quick temper and puts the coupons in the bag. It was sort of a convoluted form of buyers remorse, when you buy something impulsively and regret it hours later. Fuck. Here Ian was firmly cemented on the idea that Mickey put the coupon in his bag specifically because he wanted Ian to come back and now he has visions of Mickey throwing the coupons around like fallen autumn leaves.  
  
God damnit. Ian was so confident five minutes ago and now he was spiraling down into the familiar pit of self doubt. Mandy didn't mention anything about Mickey handing everyone these coupons. In fact she explicitly said that Mickey gave it to him for a reason. She wouldn't have said that if this was a regular occurrence, right? It had to mean something. It had to.   
  
With two people left in front of him in line he held the coupon in his hand, he stared down at it and contemplated what to do. Should he neglect the coupon idea all together and just casually order his lunch? Or should he stick with the original plan and try and flirt and get his free lunch? God damnit.   
  
Screw it. Today was a great day so far, who's to say that this won't pan out accordingly either. And even so it wouldn't have been the first time that he was shot down while trying to be flirtatious, rejection is something he can handle. He's been through a lot worse. But something about Mickey made him nervous and it wasn't because he seemed like the type of person who would cut you for assuming he was gay. He made Ian nervous because even in their very _very_ short interaction he could already tell that he liked him. A lot. Maybe too much. Mickey seemed like a contradiction, all burning insults and prickly personality but under those artic blue eyes Ian saw passion. You don't open up your own business without being passionate and tenacious and those are qualities that Ian found very endearing.   
  
Plus, he was so fucking pretty.  
  
Ian was next in line and he had finally cooled down enough to decide that he was doing this. His confidence has never been this shaken before, it was unsettling. He briefly caught Mickey's eyes when he we writing down the persons order and he swore he could have seen Mickey do a double take and he kept glancing up quickly through his lashes while writing on the notepad.   
  
But maybe it was wishful thinking.   
  
Ian walked up the window and held up his coupon between his index and middle finger and had a sly smile on his face. "Now, do I have to save this exclusively for a rough day? Because my day isn't so rough anymore since I got here."  
  
Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Ian could have sworn he saw the corners of his mouth slide up the tiniest degree. "Use it whenever you want Firecrotch, that's what coupons are for."  
  
Okay. Okay, this isn't going as nuclear as it could have. He just needs to continue trying to be smooth, to not stutter and sabotage himself. _Play it cool, Ian._  
  
"So...what do you recommend?" The fact that Ian had already picked out his lunch was forgotten about. He wanted Mickey's opinion. Plus, this was a way to get him to engage in conversation more.  
  
"What are you in the mood for?"  
  
_You._ Fuck, hopefully that didn't slip out like last time. "Well, I'm starving and I had a stressful morning. And since this burger is on the house I'd figure I would get the most expensive one you have." Ian smirked.  
  
"You fucker." Mickey grins and Ian swears his heart stops, as corny as that fucking sounds. "Well, the priciest one is the Kitchen Sink but you don't look like you would eat something that disgusting." Mickey responds while doing a very deliberate sweep of Ian's body with his eyes. "Fuck man, I don't know what you like. Get the Loop, it's got onion rings on it."  
  
"Sounds good. I'll take a bottle of water with that too, please." Ian smiled.  
  
"Iggy! One Loop burger. Now." Mickey yelled pointedly to the man in the back while keeping his eyes on Ian. The man, Iggy apparently, flipped Mickey off but immediately put two patties onto the small flat top grill in the truck.  
  
It was kismet, destiny, fucking fate. They were written in the stars, their tapestries were woven together centuries ago. _Chill. He just picked a burger. So what if it was the burger you were already thinking about getting? It's. A. Burger._  
  
"So um..." Ian mumbled out, "how long have you had this truck running?"  
  
Mickey placed his arms on the counter and leaned onto them, making him slightly more eye level with Ian. "Legally? Two years. I was doing this shit before I had all the proper paperwork and city permits or whatever-the-fuck. Got kinda sick of getting hassled by cops and shit and got this baby legalized." Mickey responds while giving two pats to the counter.  
  
Ian huffed out a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck trying to play coy. "Well, too bad you didn't run into me back then. I would have been able to help you get the legal shit squared away well before the authorities could ride your ass." Ian instantly flushed at his terrible choice of words.  
  
Mickey seemed unperturbed with the wording and continued on with the conversation. "Why? You a cop or something?" he leaned off the counter and stood up to his full height while glaring at Ian a little viciously.  
  
"No!" Ian blurted out while waving his hands in front of him. "No. I am a lawyer though. So if you get into any more legal troubles, come find me. Fuck, I'm Ian by the way." _Smooth. Real smooth, idiot._  
  
Mickey softened his glare and looked behind him to check on the burger's progress. Ian leaned up on his toes to see into the truck better. Iggy was just wrapping it up and placing it into the bag. Mickey took the bag from him and placed it on the counter while he reached into the cooler underneath the grill to grab Ian's water.  
  
"Alright Elle Woods, here's your free burger. Don't expect this type of hospitality frequently, bring your fucking wallet next time." Mickey said with a tiny smile. Ian wanted to devote his whole life to making this man smile like that forever. Fuck being a lawyer.  
  
Ian grabbed the bag and the bottle of water and took a few steps back from the truck. "I don't know, I might miraculously forget my wallet next time," Ian said while huffing out a laugh. "I'll see you around."  
  
He took five more backward steps, keeping eye contact with Mickey the whole time before he turned around to continue walking up the street. Okay, that was way better impression than the first time, his luck hadn't run out yet. But he was unsatisfied and his empty stomach wasn't the culprit. He wanted to use his great mood and his even better luck to it's full potential, things never fall into place this easily and he didn't want to squander his good fortune away on one mediocre encounter.  
  
Ian stopped and took a few reassuring deep breaths while staring down at his feet. He turned around and walked back over to the truck. Mickey was outside the truck now, unfastening the awning from it's upright position and locking it into place over the window. It looks like they were getting ready to move downtown for the dinner crowd. Now that Mickey was out of the food truck and on level ground Ian noticed a few more physical attributes he couldn't observe from behind the truck. Mickey was shorter than Ian, but not by much. His legs were short and stocky and Mickey walked with a slightly bow legged stride. And that ass....Jesus, it was a crime he hadn't been able to see that beauty before.  
  
Ian cleared his throat loudly when he got close enough to Mickey so he wouldn't startle him. Mickey turned his head around but kept his hands on the awning, still fiddling with the locking mechanism. He scrunched up his eyebrows and looked at Ian with a face that screamed "can I fucking help you?"  
  
Here goes nothing. "Hey, uh-- I don't do this often, especially to someone I barely know, but uh I was wondering if maybe, when you're free or something, I can, um, I can take you out to eat somewhere that isn't your food truck?" Ian said in a fast rush of words.  
  
Mickey dropped his hands from the awning and moved so his whole body was facing Ian, his eyebrows still drawn together. Mickey reached up and rubbed the back of his head, making his hair stick up awkwardly and stared at the ground. "Listen man, I don't do that type of shit. So like...thanks or whatever, but that's just never gonna happen."  
  
Ian bit his lip and nodded his head. He mumbled out a quick "Okay, thanks for the burger" and turned to continue walking back to work, at a faster pace than before. He should have fucking waited. He should have waited until he had a few more encounters with Mickey, some more time to work his Gallagher charm and worm his way into Mickey's good graces. But he was so confident and his day was going so so well he was hoping that this would go according to plan as well.  
  
But it didn't. And it was embarrassing as fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these burgers I mentioned are actual burgers from a restaurant called The Boston Burger Company (except the Loop is actually called the Green Monstah). Place is wild and excessive and their crazy burgers are wasted on my plain, picky ass.  
> ANYHOO, find me on [tumblah.](horror-biz.tumblr.com) :D


	2. Burgers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry it took so long to come out with the second chapter!! I just had the biggest writers block. I was literally that episode of Spongebob where he spends like an hour writing the word "the" but extend that through three months. Yikes.  
> BUT!! to make up for the absence here is 12k+ words. I suppose I could have split this into different chapters but...¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> This chapter begins a few days before the ending of the last chapter. Mickey-centric. It's important to note that Mickey has still suffered the abusive/homophobic upbringing that happened in canon. It is mentioned briefly.

Mickey stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy lidded and unfocused. He stared at the water damaged and cracked ceiling and tried to slow down his breathing.

It was his day off and he planned on spending half the day in bed with his hand down his pants, fist wrapped around his dick. So far, so good.

Mickey wasn’t one to take things slow normally, but today called for it. He needed to relax, he needed to drag the self-induced pleasure out for as long as he could. So he started small. Trailing his right hand down his bare chest, tweaking his own nipples softly while the other hand twisted in his own hair, pulling gently.

His right hand kept trailing lower, brushing over the short hairs above his waistband before resting over the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

He breathed shallowly and applied more pressure, rubbing his hand in circles, left hand still twisted in his hair. He continued this way for a few minutes until he’s properly riled up, chest flushed pink and dick straining hard against the confines of his boxers.

He pulled his sweatpants and boxers halfway down his thighs, just enough to free his erection. He lifted his right hand up to his mouth, licked his palm quickly and efficiently before wrapping his hand around the shaft of his dick, loosely at first, exhaling a soft sigh.

He kept his movements slow for now, taking the time to bask in the feeling of skin on skin contact and the tiny spark of pleasure that shot up his spine. He paused, swiped his thumb across his leaking slit twice, dragging the precome down his shaft to make his movements easier. He wrapped his hand around himself tighter and sped up the pace a tiny amount, left hand now laying listlessly against his sternum, fingers occasionally curling up and biting into his skin.

More than content with the slow build up, his movements progressed to be more frantic and hurried. Breath stuttering and eyes slipping closed. Mind blank, no outside inspiration needed. He shifted his legs up the bed, bending his knees and firmly planting his feet on the mattress to thrust up into his fist occasionally.

A soft “fuck” slipped from his mouth while his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Mickey moved his left hand, twisting a nipple again and eventually reaching down rub his balls with his palm.  
  
He was close, so fucking close…just one more twist of this wrist and swipe to the head and he’d be in heaven.

The loud banging on his door dragged him back down to Earth. He stopped his ministrations, hand still wrapped around his dick, squeezing the base.

“The fuck you want?” Mickey yelled. Thankfully, he had the hindsight to lock the door, since the person on the other side was twisting the knob, taking Mickey’s aggressive greeting as a sign that they were welcome to walk in.

Iggy’s voice floated through the thin wood of the door, “something’s up with the truck man. The fuckin’ fridge is leaking or some shit. There’s water everywhere, shit’s soaked.”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Mickey pulled his hand away from his dick and pressed his fists into his eyes. “Give me five fuckin’ minutes. I’ll meet you out there.” He punched the comforter and glanced down at his flagging erection, disappointed and horny. He was so fucking close. Fucking truck, fucking Iggy, fucking fuck.

He pulled his body up into a sitting position and twisted until his feet were planted on the floor. Mickey scrubbed his hands down his face and stood up, pulling his boxers up and his sweatpants down. He bent over to grab his jeans off the floor and rummaged around for a dirty shirt and his sneakers. If he was fixing the truck he didn’t want to dirty up clean clothes.

Unlocking the door and wrenching it open a little forcefully, he padded into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. Mandy was leaning against the counter, bowl of Lucky Charms in her hand, spoon halfway to her mouth, milk dripping off and landing back in the bowl with an inaudible splash.

She chewed and chewed, staring at Mickey the whole time. She placed the spoon back into the bowl and around a mouthful of cereal she said “someone came by the truck looking for you today.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows and lifted the beer can to his lips to take a swig. Swallowing, he responded “Yeah? You tell ‘em to eat shit?”

“Nah, he was kinda cute. Redhead, named Ian. Said he had a coupon for a free burger,” she smirked at him “didn’t know we gave out free burgers.”

“Don’t.” Mickey said with a slight shake of his head.

“Hmm…he must have been special then.” She winked and went back to eating her cereal, grinning diabolically.

Mickey huffed and chugged the rest of his beer, crushing the can and throwing it roughly in the direction of the trash. He walked passed her towards the back door and paused after opening it.

“I hope you choke on that cereal.” Mickey said with a grin and slammed the door behind him.

It was nice outside. Slightly chilly and overcast, but nothing compared to the brutal winter they just endured. Fifty degrees felt like one hundred in comparison. It was the perfect time for normal people to be planting flowers, sprucing up their houses, adding to their curb appeal. Mickey just hoped the roof wouldn’t cave in and the dead, brown grass wouldn’t catch fire from a discarded cigarette butt.

Iggy was leaning against the truck that they parked in the lot next to their house. Smoke was billowing around his head, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers while he fiddled with his phone.

Mickey walked up to him, plucked the cigarette from his hand and took a drag before he said “so what’s the problem?”

“Don’t know man. We were halfway through dinner, heard something like…dripping, I guess? Looked down and there was water pooling around my shoes. We shut shit down and came back here.”

Mickey rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, “fuckin’ great. Hopefully we can fix it here.” He took a few more puffs from the cigarette, threw it to the dirt and ground it out with his shoe. Mickey walked over to the door to the truck and slid it open, walking up the three steps to get inside. Iggy placed his palms flat on each side of the door and leaned into the opening. Mickey stared down at the floor and huffed out an aggravated breath.

“You shitheads didn’t feel like pickin’ up the fuckin’ water? Go grab some damn towels.” He directed towards Iggy, who rolled his eyes and walked back towards the house.

The truck was a piece of shit, small, barely functional, pretty rusted and beat up. They had the bare minimum required to prepare the food they served; a tiny prep table, a meager four foot grill, two deep fryers, two burners, a small fridge under the grill for prepped food and another fridge for beverages. It was cramped, but they managed to conduct business as close to flawless as they could. They had a large freezer and another fridge in the basement of the house where they kept all their surplus of food, which just consisted of extra ground meat, whole vegetables, pre-cut potatoes and buns.

The truck might have been a piece of shit, but Mickey wanted his food to stand out, if this was going to be the only thing he had to offer the world he wanted to make sure it wasn't a huge pile of shit. He prepped all the food fresh in the early mornings, hauling ingredients out of the basement and into the truck. His sub-par food prep experience growing exponentially through the years, his short time working as a fry cook coming in handy. They didn’t operate the truck on Sunday’s. Mickey used that day to have Iggy and Mandy help him deep clean the truck and appliances, go food shopping and any other small tasks that needed to done for the upcoming week.

It wasn’t easy. But it was worth it. This wasn’t what he was planning on doing with his life, it sort of just...happened.

He had been sitting on the couch with Mandy, slightly cocked off some bargain brand whiskey and steadily smoking blunt after blunt. The television was on mainly for background noise, Mickey staring at the screen but not exactly soaking in any of the details until Mandy turned to him and slurred “you can do that.”

Mickey lifted his head from resting against the back of couch and squinted at the screen, like that would make him see better. It was some stupid show on Food Network about trucks and people racing them or some shit.

“’m not racing no damn truck," Mickey mumbled out.

Mandy back handed him across the chest, “you don’t race ‘em, dipshit, you sell food out of ‘em. You could open one and sell all those freaky burgers you make us sometimes.”

Mickey hummed and rested his head against the back of the couch again and closed his eyes. It was a tiny, throw away comment that suddenly became all Mickey could think about.

Now two years later, he’s kneeling down into a pool of water on his food truck floor, water soaking through the knees of his jeans, trying to figure out what possibly could be wrong with the fucking fridge. Mickey likes to avoid hiring repairman as often as he can (expect that one time the grill just would not work no matter what they did) and has been able to fix most of the problems that pop up with relative ease. It's wild what YouTube can teach you these days.  
  
He opens the door, fiddles with the dials, checks the plug and the outlet in the back. Everything on the surface seems normal. Sighing, he stands up and walks to the front of the truck to grab the small toolbox they keep on board just as Iggy is returning with some towels.

“You figure it out?” Iggy asks.

“Not yet, think the defrost drain might be blocked, like what happened a few months ago? Everything is still cold and it’s working, so that’s not the issue. Gonna poke around in the drain, try to see what’s up.”

Iggy nodded and climbed into the truck, handing Mickey a few towels to place under his knees to soak up the water. He grunted a thanks and put the towels under his knees, bending further to look into the fridge, squinting at the white light.   
  
Yup, this is exactly how he wanted to spend his day off.   


* * *

  
If Mickey was a cartoon character he would have a literal black cloud hanging over his head, following him around town and pouring rain when it was the most inconvenient. He had started his day in a foul mood after waking up from a dream that he wished he hadn't had. In his dream he had woken up warm and comfortable, the sun streaming through clean, white curtains. He had been laying in bed with Ian, curled up together under a fluffy comforter, Ian looking up into Mickey's eyes with his chin propped up on Mickey's chest. It was a lazy morning, starting off with lazy kisses and even lazier handjobs. It was cheesy and so fucking domestic, but dream Mickey had never felt that content before.

When Mickey actually woke up, he was alone under a threadbare sheet and the sun shining through ripped and smoke stained curtains. He sighed heavily and his eyes rested unfocused on the wall next to his bed. Mickey has woken up alone every day of his life for the past twenty six years, so he doesn't know why the predictability of waking up alone today caused a heavy ache to sit in his chest. He had never wanted to wake up to someone like that, at least that's what he always told himself.

In reality, it was something he never saw as a possibility. When his father was alive, he was constantly living under his thumb. Existing only to be Terry's mule and employee. Mickey never thought he would be able to exist as anything else. Constantly having to conceal his sexuality and his preference for dick in lieu of being able to survive. It was a shitty catch twenty two.

So when that fucker went and got himself shot four years ago, Mickey mourned in style by getting black out drunk and inviting some random guy back from the bar to fuck him hard and loud in his room. Underneath the same roof that he had to hide under for so many years. And to have Iggy and Mandy greet him in the morning with twin grins and a cup of coffee with three aspirin, it had been the most liberating moment of his fucking life.

Despite not having to hide anymore, he still never envisioned a future for himself where he would be in a happy relationship like the one his dream so evilly laid out for him. It wasn't until his subconscious mind conjured the idea did he realize he was lonely.

Really fucking lonely.

It's not like he didn't have people to keep him company, he had Mandy and Iggy and....well, actually that was it. He was never one to actively seek out companionship, always content to float through life alone. No one to disappoint. No one to impress. No one to think he's trash. So he kept his circle small. Very, very small. He's understanding now that he genuinely wants someone around who wasn't forced to be in contact with him like his siblings were. They didn't chose to have Mickey apart of their lives, and honestly who would? He's dirty, he's aggressive, he's quick tempered, he's rude and stubborn and unnecessarily cruel sometimes.   
  
So he's not sure why this startling revelation of self imposed alienation was hitting him so hard. All because of a stupid redheaded motherfucker he talked to for a grand total of three minutes. If this was what a crush felt like, he's happy he's never had one before because they are genuinely awful.   
  
Longing to spend the rest of his day laying in bed feeling sorry for himself he knew he unfortunately had to move, it was his day in the truck. He lifted himself into a seated position, rubbing forcefully at his eyes until he saw objects floating in space. On his way to the kitchen he stopped by Iggy's room to bang loudly on the door to wake the fucker up, he swears Iggy would be able to sleep through a bomb going off right outside his bedroom door.  
  
He started the coffee, having to hit the old machine three times before it started percolating. He placed his hands on the counter and pushed his hips back, allowing his head to tilt towards his chest. He tried to clear his mind and just listen to the burps of the coffee, trying to get out of the overly depressing headspace that he woke up in. Sure, he was rarely noticeably happy, but his mood usually wasn't this sour.   
  
Mickey stood in that position for a few minutes before straightening up, rolling his neck and cracking his back. He sighed loudly before reaching into the cabinet for a chipped mug, pouring two tablespoons of sugar into the bottom so it would melt into the coffee. He poured the steaming liquid into the mug and carried it back towards Iggy's door.  
  
He banged even harder on the door and yelled "Wake the fuck up dick-breath! We got shit to do."  
  
Mickey felt something thump against the door and that was the best  _good morning_ he was going to get from his brother.  
  
An hour later they were dressed, fed and out of the house. They loaded the truck up in silence, soundlessly working along side each other to get everything prepped for lunch. Of course it was a beautiful spring day outside, sunny as fuck, slightly chilly but warming up. Mickey's gloomy mood couldn't even be lightened by the nice weather, his black cloud seemingly doomed to follow him all day.   
  
Once the truck was loaded, Mickey plopped down into the drivers seat, Iggy sliding the door shut and locking it before throwing himself into the seat and propping his feet up on the dash. Mickey hunched over and slotted the keys into the ignition. Starting the truck was always a science; the key had to be turned until the engine clicked twice, then quickly turned off again, give it a quick jiggle and turn the key again and the engine will start, quickly followed by _bang!_ from the muffler.  
  
They drove in silence to their first lunch location, the one near Ian's work. They always tried to arrive between 11 and 11:30, just to make sure everything was the way it should be before the lunch rush. He pulled over to their usual spot parked in front of a pawn shop that had a naked mannequin with a stringless guitar propped up in the window. Very awkward decor, but it never failed to make Mickey emit a small chuckle at the sight of it.   
  
He didn't chuckle today.  
  
He stepped out the truck to prop up the awning while Iggy fiddled with the dials on their small portable radio and turned on all the equipment. Like everything else on the truck, the awning was a piece of shit. The hinges were rusted slightly making it difficult to prop up and take down twice a day.   
  
Mickey specifically struggled with it today, his patience down to nothing already. He smashed his fist against the hinges a couple of times, trying to get the damn things to cooperate. It didn't help that he had to stand on his toes to reach the fucking lock.  
  
It's days like today that Mickey wishes he was the one making the burgers instead of interacting with the customers. If Iggy wasn't so shit with money he would be up front, but the last time that happened they had managed to lose $200 instead of profit anything. They still haven't figured that one out.   
  
Lunch service commenced like normal, with a little more attitude from Mickey. By nature he wasn't a very patient person, but he has learned to be slightly less scathing towards the customers, they had to make money after all. Today he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, let alone slow and confused customers who were disrupting the flow of the line. There was an older gentlemen, late fifties to early sixties, who was taking way to damn long to decide what he wanted like he didn't have time to look at the damn menu while he was waiting in line.   
  
Mickey tried, he really did, to give this man a few seconds to figure out his order, but the constant _hmm-ing_ and _huh-ing_ coming from this man's mouth was grating on his last already frazzled nerve. He loudly grunted "fuckin' today grandpa" at the guy. This caused the man to stumble over his words, but he quickly picked a burger which Mickey called out to Iggy to make while taking the guys money. After handing back the change, Mickey turned his back to the man and just watched Iggy place two small patties on the grill, watching it sizzle and pop. Mickey braced his hands on the counter behind him and took a few deep breaths, trying to keep his composure. What the fuck was wrong with him today?  
  
"Jeez Mick, I know you're usually all sunshine and daisies, but you're exceptionally upbeat today." Iggy said with a smirk.  
  
"Fuck off." Mickey bit out, aggressively packing up the food Iggy just finished wrapping.   
  
"Seriously man, are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fucking fine, Ig. Just focus on the damn food." Mickey snatched the bag and handed it none to gently to the man. Mickey looked up to make eye contact with the next customer and saw a flash of red a few faces down, spotting Ian like a fucking lighthouse at night. He quickly diverted his eyes and looked down at the counter, greeting the next customer sharply and writing down their order. He looked up briefly and made eye contact with Ian causing a slight blush to creep over his cheeks.   
  
Fucking blushing, really? What was this, seventh grade?   
  
He called the customer's order over to Iggy, his voice slightly shaky. Of all days for Ian to show his gorgeous fucking face it had to be today, the one day when Mickey couldn't keep a lid on his god damn emotions.   
  
Mickey took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down and play it fucking cool. He went through the motions of taking the customers orders, going slower than usual. He would occasionally sneak glances at him, trying not to seem too obvious. It's times like these he wishes Iggy wasn't so fucking fast and methodical when it came to making the burgers. It's great for getting delicious, fresh food to customers quickly, but it sucks for when you're trying to avoid a conversation.  
  
As fate would have it, Ian was directly in front of him in only five short minutes which was definitely not enough time to restart his brain after short circuiting. What was worse is that Ian was the last one in line, so Mickey couldn't even speed through this conversation under the guise of customer service.  
  
Ian had an adorable smirk on his face that Mickey wanted to kiss right the fuck off. He held the coupon that Mickey, stupidly, gave him the other day between his fingers. He raised his eyebrows and said "Now, do I have to save this exclusively for a rough day? Because my day isn't so rough anymore since I got here."  
  
Mickey scoffed and couldn't help rolling his eyes a little bit, because that shit was cheesier than his Mac-Attack burger. He had to keep his face from betraying him and smiling too hard, but the corners of his mouth lifted the smallest amount.  
  
"Use it whenever you want Firecrotch, that's what coupons are for." Mickey responded, way to easily for someone who's brain was moving faster than a bullet train.  
  
Ian laughed softly at that, biting the corner of his lip before looking Mickey in the eyes. "So...what do you recommend?"  
  
Mickey placed his hands on the counter and pushed his hips back slightly, "What are you in the mood for?"   
  
Mickey wanted to smack himself for how god damn suggestive that sounded, wishing he could snatch those words out of the air and force them down his throat to burn with the acid in his stomach.   
  
If Ian picked up the accidental suggestive tone, he didn't allude to it.  "Well, I'm starving and I had a stressful morning. And since this burger is on the house I'd figure I would get the most expensive one you have." Ian smirked that fucking playful smirk again.  
  
Mickey barks out a quick laugh, smiling brightly. "You fucker. Well, the priciest one is the Kitchen Sink but you don't look like you would eat something that disgusting." Mickey pauses and unconsciously trails his eyes down Ian's body, very obviously checking him out. _What the fuck? Keep it together._  "Fuck man, I don't know what you like. Get the Loop, it's got onion rings on it."  
  
Ian, once again, ignores Mickey's terrible unconscious display of flirting and smiles. "Sounds good. I'll take a bottle of water with that too, please."  
  
Mickey yelled to Iggy to get Ian's order started, but not without the usual middle finger aimed in his direction. It was silent for a moment, the banter between them coming to an awkward pause, the only sounds heard being the popping of grease and traffic horns. They held eye contact for way to long, well long by Mickey's standard of two seconds, and he adverted his eyes and bit his lip. At least he wasn't fucking blushing anymore.   
  
Ian, being the savior that he apparently was, broke the silence. "So um-how long have you had this truck running?"  
  
Mickey, not versed in starting small talk, was grateful that Ian was taking the initiative to hold a conversation. For once Mickey found himself willing giving over this information, feeling comfortable with Ian even though he doesn't even know the fucker. He crossed his arms and leaned onto the counter, bringing himself slightly more eye level with Ian.   
  
"Legally? Two years. I was doing this shit before I had all the proper paperwork and city permits or whatever-the-fuck. Got kinda sick of getting hassled by cops and shit and got this baby legalized." Mickey smiled and patted the counter twice. The food truck wasn't much, but it was _his_. His business. His way to provide for his family. His baby and he was damn proud of that fact, even if the bucket of bolts and rust barely made it to and from each location.  
  
Ian smiled and looked down at his feet, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. This cute fucker. "Well, too bad you didn't run into me back then. I would have been able to help you get the legal shit squared away well before the authorities could ride your ass."  
  
Ian instantly flushed redder than his hair, obviously noticing the innuendo in his wording. But he was gracious enough to bypass Mickey's accidental slip earlier, so he ignored it as best as he could even though he was now imagining someone else riding his ass. But there was something in his wording that threw Mickey off, it all sounded too...formal and he was way to paranoid for his own good.  
  
He leaned off the counter and narrowed his eyes, easily falling back into intimidation mode. "Why? You a cop or something?"  
  
"No! No. I am a lawyer though. So if you get into any more legal troubles, come find me." Ian all but yelled while waving his hands in front of him in a placating manner. "Fuck, I'm Ian by the way." He spit out as an after thought, stuttering slightly and looking slightly pale. Mickey already knew his name thanks to Mandy, but ignored that fact so he didn't look like a stalker and just nodded twice.  
  
He dropped the glare off his face and turned to see Iggy finishing Ian's order and putting it into the bag. Mickey snagged it, but not before catching the smirk on Iggy's lips and the head nod in Ian's direction. Mickey glared daggers at Iggy, mouthing _fuck off_ and bent down to grab a water bottle from the cooler underneath the grill.   
  
He turned back to Ian and placed the water and bag of food on the counter. "Alright Elle Woods, here's your free burger. Don't expect this type of hospitality frequently, bring your fucking wallet next time." He said with a smile, hoping to make Ian feel a little at ease after snapping at him like that.   
  
Ian chuckled and grabbed his order from the counter, "I don't know, I might miraculously forget my wallet next time. I'll see you around." Ian walked backwards for a few steps, keeping eye contact with Mickey the entire time before turning around fully and walking away. Mickey's eyes trailed down Ian's back, his shirt gripping deliciously to the defined muscles of his shoulders. Mickey let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and turned around to see Iggy maniacally grinning at him.   
  
"Has anyone ever told you you're creepy as fuck? Wipe that look off your face, asshole, it's time to move." Mickey said.  
  
Iggy chuckled but threw up his hands in surrender, focusing his attention on packing everything up to move to the dinner location. Mickey took everything off the counter (napkins, ketchup, mustard, salt packets, all the extra shit you might need for your food) and secured it under the counter before hopping out of the truck to take down the awning.   
  
He stood up on his toes, feeling his shirt ride up a bit, and started smashing his fist against the rusted locks again, grunting in annoyance. When they finally cooperated, he guided the awning down and lowered himself flat on his feet. He was just fastening the hooks into place to keep the awning from flying off during travel when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned his head, eyebrows firmly furrowed into place. He wasn't expecting Ian to be standing there again and he definitely wasn't expecting what came out of Ian's mouth.  
  
"Hey, uh-- I don't do this often, especially to someone I barely know, but uh I was wondering if maybe, when you're free or something, I can, um, I can take you out to eat somewhere that isn't your food truck?"  
  
Ian said everything so fast, Mickey almost didn't catch what he was saying. But he heard it, oh god did he hear it. And he was terrified. He's not a guy who people usually like to wine and dine before sticking their dick up his ass and Mickey was fine with that. No strings, no awkwardness and he gets off. Where's the downside?  
  
Oh right, the crushing loneliness that's been making a home for itself in his chest for years. He doesn't _do_ dates, but god is he tempted to say yes to Ian. How this gorgeous, confident and obviously smart person saw anything worth while in Mickey was a mystery. He dropped his hands from the awning and faced Ian fully, running his hand through his hair and avoiding eye contact so his eyes didn't betray his words.  
  
"Listen man, I don't do that type of shit. So like...thanks or whatever, but that's just never gonna happen."  
  
He still didn't look up, too much of a pussy to fucking look Ian in the eyes as he turned him down. He heard Ian mumble something, but he honestly didn't comprehend it, his heart beating loudly against his ribs in protest. He kept his eyes firmly locked on a crack in the pavement, wishing it would break open and swallow him whole. The sound of Ian's rapidly retreating footsteps causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head.   
  
"You're a fucking idiot." He heard Iggy say from inside the truck. Mickey whipped his head up to see Iggy leaning against the door, feet crossed in front of him.   
  
"Shut the fuck up, you know nothing about this." Mickey clenched his fists at his side in frustration. Frustration only slightly caused by Iggy, but mostly directed at himself.   
  
"He was clearly interested in you, dickhead and I could practically see your boner for that fuck from space."  
  
"You don't fucking understand." Mickey snarled through clenched teeth.   
  
"Oh, I understand just fine. Mick..." he paused until Mickey made eye contact and saw that Iggy's face was neutral but slightly laced with pity. It made Mickey sick, "you don't gotta be afraid anymore."  
  
Mickey stared at Iggy for a few seconds before sighing heavily and relaxing his shoulders. Iggy was right, but he'd be damned if he told him that. He didn't need to be afraid anymore, the threat of his father finding out hasn't been a reality in a long, long time. But it's not that fucking easy to forget about all of that, to push it aside and be happy for fucking once. Mickey didn't say anything back, just moved forward and shoved his brother into the truck and slid the door shut behind them.   
  
The dinner rush was starting in a few minutes.  


* * *

 

It was fucking pouring. The rain was pelting the top of the tin truck magnifying the noise, making it sound like thousands of faraway gunshots. The wipers on the windshield were doing a sub-par job of keeping the window clear enough to see out of. The thunder was rumbling so loud, Mickey swore he felt it vibrating the concrete below the tires.

Luckily the rain held out long enough to get through lunch without any hiccups, but at the first crack of thunder, they closed up shop and skipped the dinner rush. Mickey dropped Iggy off at some random chicks house and Mickey was making his way back towards the Milkovich residence. Navigating the truck on crowded Chicago streets was tough enough, but adding the deluge of rain on top of it made it slightly more difficult, especially since the windshield wipers were a piece of shit.

Despite this, it would be hard to miss that red hair anywhere, even though it’s darker thanks to the monsoon currently pounding down. Ian hadn’t been to the truck since Mickey turned down his proposal to get food about two weeks ago. And it’s not like Mickey has been counting days since he’s seen him. And it’s not like Mickey thinks about him before he goes to bed. And it’s not like Mickey has visions of Ian firmly planted in his head when he jerks off.

Okay, yes he does.

Sighing, Mickey pulled the truck over, put it in park and slid open the door. “Yo! Firecrotch, get in here before you drown.”

Ian stopped walking and turned around. He looked hesitant at first, but seconds later quickly shuffled over to the truck and launched himself into the seat. “Thanks man, can’t believe I got stuck out there like that.” Ian gently shook his head to scatter some rain drops around the front seat of the truck, running his hand through it briefly before settling it back at his side.   
  
Mickey climbed back into the drivers seat and leaned against the window, facing Ian. "Don't read the paper in the morning man? Shit's been predicted all week."  
  
Ian huffed and turned his head to look out the window, "not usually, if I'm being honest. Just look up into the sky and take it from there."  
  
"Sounds stupid man, you're a lawyer, not a weather man." Mickey smirks.   
  
Ian chuckled and turned to face Mickey, small smile on his face. "Yeah, guess I'm not."  
  
Mickey held eye contact with Ian for an uncomfortable few seconds before dropping his eyes to watch a few drops of rain trail down his face; streaming around the sharp curve of his jaw before forming a drop at the tip of his chin.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Mickey shook his head and turned his body to grip onto the wheel, hands firmly planted on ten and two, grip slightly too tight. "So, where am I bringing ya?"   
  
"West Cermak, it's two buildings down from the CVS on the corner of South Ashland."  
  
Mickey nodded and put the truck into drive, checking his mirror before turning back onto the road.  
  
The ride was quiet and slightly awkward, if Mickey was being totally honest. No sounds being made except for the pinging of harsh rain drops off the thin tin roof. He didn't know this guy from a hole in the wall. Sure, they had met briefly twice and flirted a bit, but Mickey made it vehemently clear that he wasn't interested in Ian that way. And the fact that the object of his masturbation material was sharing the same air as him was slightly unnerving. It's not like Mickey would know what to say to the guy during a normal situation, but this was not normal. This was tense and strange and Mickey was wholeheartedly regretting pulling over to pick him up and it hasn't even been a full minute.   
  
So, he concentrated on driving. Focusing all his attention on braking appropriately, using his blinker, being fucking courteous and ignoring the red headed demon in his passenger seat.  
  
He was so focused it shocked him when ten minutes later Ian mumbled "it's the grey one, on the right there." Mickey nodded and pulled the truck over towards the sidewalk, putting it in park. He wanted Ian to just give a quick "thanks" and hop out of the vehicle and that would be it. But he's lingering. He's fucking lingering and Mickey is getting anxious.   
  
Ian lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, "Listen...I want to apologize for the other day. I just--I'm an idiot. I guess the stress from that week was making me delusional." Ian said with a forced laugh. It was tough to tell if the redness of his cheeks should be attributed to the cold rain or embarrassment.   
  
"Um, so-listen. I know you said you didn't want to get food with me, but I feel like I at least owe you a drink for bringing me home. There's this shitty bar attached to my apartment building. Place smells like mold, but the drinks are cheap and it's an escape from the rain."  
  
Mickey just stared and didn't say anything back, face forming into a scowl. He can't believe this guy has the balls to ask him not once, but twice now, to hangout outside the comfort of the food truck. It was shocking, really. That despite Mickey's less than endearing disposition, his insults, his all around personality, Ian still wasn't deterred. If anything it only seemed to intrigue him further. Mickey was used to people taking one look at his knuckle tattoos and immediately dismissing him as someone who wasn't worth their time.   
  
And here comes Ian, out of left fucking field, trying (in small steps) to get to know Mickey and he seems like a genuinely nice guy so something isn't adding up. Nice things and nice people don't happen to Mickey. For who he is and what he is - the Milkovich fag- he's not used to nice things happening to him. He's used to beatings, insults and staying in this prickly shell that he had built for himself over the years.  
  
He's comfortable there, it's what he is used too.    
  
Ian rustles around uncomfortably and Mickey shook himself out of his self deprecating spiral. He deserved this, he has earned this. Even if it's something as small as getting one fucking drink with another guy. And with his dad firmly planted six feet underground, Mickey doesn't need to constantly be looking over his shoulder anymore. He's allowed to be free now, something it will take a long time to get used too. And Ian is choosing to try and spend time with Mickey, and wasn't that the same thing that got him bent outta shape a few weeks ago? The prospect of no one choosing Mickey, ever?  
   
He blinked, licked his lips and finally said "yeah, sure."  
  
Ian whipped his head around and looked Mickey in the eyes, mouth slightly agape. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah man, why the fuck not? A free drink is a free drink."  
  
Ian let out a disbelieving chuckle. "Okay yeah, well let me go change out of these soaked clothes and I-I'll meet you in there? Five minutes. Tops."   
  
Mickey shrugged and turned off the truck, pocketing the keys. Ian slid the truck door open and sprinted towards the building, sparing a look back at Mickey before swinging open the front door.   
  
Mickey exhaled and rubbed his hands down his face. This was fine. It was okay, it was one drink and then he could bolt and go home and jack off to those brilliant green eyes in the privacy of his room. This wasn't a date. It was just two guys, getting a drink together. People do that all the time. No expectations. No demands. Just booze.   
  
He stood up from his seat and shook his limbs out and cracked his neck, trying to loosen up his mind by loosening up his body first. He stepped out of the truck, slid the door closed and locked it up. He shuffled over to the bar and stood under the awning and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Extracting one from the box and lighting it seemed to be a difficult task due to his shaking hands. Mickey managed to get the thing lit after six tries and a mumbled "fuck" around the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. The first cloud of smoke he inhaled instantly relaxed him. As soon as he felt the nicotine and tar curl around his lungs he felt a hundred pounds lighter. Never doubt the healing powers of a cigarette. He puffed on it fast, wanting to get inside before Ian came downstairs so he could down a shot or two before he had to sit and be social with this guy for ten minutes. A little liquid courage goes a long way.   
  
Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he threw the butt onto the sidewalk and pulled open the door to the bar. It was small, dark and dingy. There are five booths lining the walls, about fourteen stools around the bar top and the layer of dust settling over everything. Even the four patrons in there looked like they had dust collecting on them. It smells like mold, like Ian had said. Mickey scrunched up his nose and walked to the opposite side of the bar, nodding to the bartender on his way over. The man was short, shorter than average, and looked like he would need a ladder to reach the liquor on the top shelf. His hair was pulled back into a greasy looking ponytail and his beard was growing in patches. This guy looked like he rarely left his mothers basement.  
  
"What can I get for ya?" He wheezed out.   
  
"Two shots of whiskey. Cheapest shit you got." Mickey held up two fingers for emphasis. The bartender nodded and turned to pour the shots while Mickey dug around for ten bucks in his pocket.   
  
The greasy ponytail came back and placed the shots in front of Mickey. Mickey nodded and handed over the money, mumbling out "keep the change."   
  
Mickey placed the first shot glass up to his lips and tipped it back with a practiced ease, not even flinching as the harsh taste touched his tongue, swallowing without so much as blinking an eye. He clinked the empty glass on the table and picked up the remaining shot, firing it back with the same ease as the first. God, what he wouldn't give for five more of these.  
  
The alcohol was pooling warmly in his stomach when Ian walked into the bar, hair combed back but still slightly damp, his clothes are dry (unfortunately) and he was making a bee-line straight for Mickey. Mickey tried to force his expression into one of nonchalance, but his face has always been excellent at betraying his mind. He probably looked like a mixture of terrified and disgusted, which if he was honest with himself he was both those things.   
  
Terrified of the prospect of actually having a drink with this guy.  
  
Disgusted at himself for being terrified. Milkoviches don't get scared, they do the scaring.   
  
Mickey took a few deep breathes to ground himself before Ian was fully settled into the seat next to him, elbows bumping slightly while he got comfortable on the hard stool.   
  
Ian glanced over at Mickey, a small smile on his face. "Got started without me I see" he said while doing a sweeping motion with his hand towards the empty shot glasses.   
  
Mickey shrugged, "You took too long" he mumbled out.  
  
Ian smirked "I promise I will never keep your Highness waiting ever again. Now, pick your poison. I'm sure there's actual poison in this bar, so chose wisely."  


* * *

  
It's been an hour and three drinks later, the first beer guzzled down in under a minute. Mickey doesn't know how it happened, but Ian managed to con him into a conversation he actually enjoyed having. It wasn't difficult for Mickey to relax once Ian started going, there was just something about the guy that put you at ease. He was confident, but not cocky. He was smart, but not pretentious.  And that smile was killer, it lit up his whole fucking face and Mickey could feel himself staring. It had been a long time since Mickey had felt this comfortable around someone who wasn't related to him. It felt good. To even lower his guard infinitesimally was a huge accomplishment and he was actually enjoying himself, which came as a surprise.   
  
"So, how did the food truck happen? No offense, but you don't strike me as the type of guy that would own a food truck." Ian turned his whole body so he was facing Mickey, right arm resting on the bar top and his knees lightly knocking into Mickey's thigh. He could have sworn his skin was burning from the contact.   
  
Mickey huffed out a laugh and raised his beer to his lips, taking a mouthful before answering the question. "And what do you expect a guy who owns a food truck to look like?" He replied with a small smile.   
  
"I-I'm not sure. Like Guy Fieri maybe. Greasy looking. Weird. Definitely not you." Ian said sheepishly.   
  
Mickey cocked his eyebrow and looked Ian in the eye. "Yeah, well I expect every lawyer to look like they suck lemons and have balding, grey hair."  
  
Ian laughed loudly at that, head thrown back and everything. It was beautiful. Once he calmed down, Ian said softly  "Touché. No...but really, how did it happen?"  
  
Mickey sighed and ran his hand through his hair. This wasn't that great of a story, very anti-climatic and boring to say the least. This wasn't a grand plan that Mickey had been concocting since he was young. It wasn't a life long dream of his. Hell he didn't have any lifelong dreams besides just fucking surviving. He's sure that Ian is expecting some grandiose and elaborate story, but what he was going to get was a story that would only take up half a page if written down.   
  
"I don't know man, it kinda just happened. My sister made a random fuckin' comment while we were watching tv, blitzed out of our fuckin' minds, and it's something that I just latched onto I guess." He paused and took another sip of his beer before continuing. "Bought a shitty, barely working, used food truck from some fuckin' dump in south Illinois and started selling burgers out of it."   
  
Ian was still looking intently at Mickey's face. In any other circumstance with any other person, Mickey wouldn't even think about popping someone in the eye for looking at him like that. But with Ian he wanted that intensity, craved the heat radiating off his body. He was so totally fucked.   
  
"Yeah but...why burgers? Why not fucking hot dogs or tacos or something? Burgers seem a little labor intensive for a food truck, especially _your_ burgers."   
  
Mickey chuckled lowly. "Yeah, I know my shit can get pretty ridiculous. I don't know man, hamburger meat seemed to be the only fucking food we had in the house growing up, so I found ways to spice it up so it wasn't so damn boring. They've gotten a lot better since then, trust me. Having a burger with whipped cream on it is something I never want to have near me ever again."  
  
Ian snorted and made a disgusted face. He turned his body around to face the bar again and Mickey was suddenly missing the heat of Ian's knees pressed into his thighs.   
  
"Glad I missed that experiment." Ian said, while signalling to the bartender for another round. Brave motherfucker thinking that Mickey would stay for more.   
  
He wasn't going anywhere.   
  
"So lawyer, huh? That's gotta be draining."  
  
Ian sighed and gazed around the bar briefly before settling his eyes on Mickey again. "Yeah, it is fucking draining and so not rewarding. You think it would be. Rewarding I mean. But all I help do is make sure old rich fucks don't get half their money taken away by gold diggers."  
  
"Is that not what you wanted to do then?" Mickey asked, as greasy ponytail put down two more beers in spotty glasses.   
  
Ian grabbed his glass and just held it in his hands. "It is to some extent. I wanted to be the guy who defended those gold diggers for stabbing the old rich fucks in the stomach when they found out they weren't getting any money. That's where all the fun is."  
  
Mickey laughed softly and it was his turn to move his body so he was facing Ian, making his intentions clear. Ian was the only one he was interested in talking too or even looking at at this dingy, dirty, dusty old bar. Mickey was grateful to have the heat from Ian's thigh rush through his legs and he had to suppress the shudder he felt rippling through his body.  
  
"Did you always want to be a lawyer?"  
  
Ian huffed and looked down. "No. I wanted to join the army. Dedicated all my teenage years to it, ROTC and all that jazz. Turned out I wasn't exactly military material. That's a story for another time though." Ian took a gulp from his glass after that and Mickey noticed a small sliver of sadness wash over Ian's face. "But, after that I figured why not go into law, ya know? I grew up South Side and I saw my fair share of friends and family get fucked over because they couldn't afford quality legal guidance. So, I figured why the fuck not? Eight years of college, a piece of paper and a mountain of debt later and Ian Gallagher is legally allowed to practice law in the state of Illinois. What they don't tell ya before graduation is that it will be years before you see the inside of the courtroom."  
  
Mickey nodded and took a sip of his beer, still facing Ian's direction. There was a lull in conversation and a comfortable silence fell over the two of them. The almost two hours they've been in the bar and only two other patrons have trickled in to take residence at the bar top. The rain outside seemed to be pounding down heavier than ever and the loud booms of thunder made Mickey wonder why everyone just didn't stay the fuck home.  
  
The silence stretched on into uncomfortable territory and Mickey started gulping his beer a little faster. It was time to go now. Two hours of one-on-one human interaction outside the food truck was his limit, apparently, and he was itching to get out of the bar and into the comfort of his truck.  
  
Ian must have noticed the tension forming in Mickey's body because he turned, a little sloppily given the close quarters, and slid his knees around Mickey's leg, trapping them between his legs.  
  
Mickey raised his eyebrows and licked the side of his mouth. "Bold move, Gallagher."  
  
Ian chuckled and looked embarrassed yet confident at the same time, with a small smirk playing across his lips. "What can I say, I'm a bold guy."   
  
Mickey snorted and raised the glass to his lips, eyes still attached to Ian's while he took a sip. Ian's eyes drifted down to watch Mickey's Adam's apple bob up and down and consciously or not his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Mickey had to bite his tongue to keep the whimper from escaping his lips. Slowly, Ian moved his hand from resting on his own thigh to lightly rest on Mickey's, fingers barely curling and scratching into the fabric.  
  
Mickey gulped and bit his lip, his brain fizzled out and all rational thought flew out his ears. His heart started pounding so hard against his rib-cage he's sure Ian heard the rhythmic _thumpthumpthump_. Ian looked up from gazing at his hand on Mickey's thigh and looked into Mickey's eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly and his brow slightly furrowed with uncertainty.   
  
Mickey's skin felt like it was burning under Ian's hand, like a hot iron was pressed firmly against his skin. It was making his skin crawl and he's positive he started sweating. Ian licked his lips and squeezed Mickey's thigh lightly before experimentally moving his hand further up Mickey's thigh.   
  
Mickey was panicking. They were in a public place, surrounded by people (okay, well, actually there was only about seven people in the bar, one of them passed out in a booth and all open eyes on the Blackhawks game) and Ian decided to be a ballsy motherfucker.   
  
Mickey was breathing heavily when he finally opened his mouth to say something surprisingly coherent. "I uh--I should get going, got errands and shit to run for the truck."  
  
Ian, hand still firmly planted on Mickey's upper thigh, leaned in so he was closer to him, the words floating passed his smirking lips like silk, "I think you should come upstairs with me instead. It will be more fun than running errands. I promise."  
  
Mickey's cock might have twitched the smallest amount and he was praying to God that Ian didn't notice. He was torn about what to do. On one hand, he hadn't gotten laid in a long time and Ian certainly looks like he knows what to do in the bedroom. He would probably be the best fuck Mickey has had in years. On the other hand, he barely knows this guy, how can he be sure that he can trust Ian like that? This isn't some quick fuck in an alley with a faceless guy. He likes Ian, could genuinely see himself making Ian his only fucking friend, does he really want to risk that by having an awkward sexual encounter?  
  
Mickey's head was fucking spinning and he was ferociously biting the skin off his lip. Most people would take this standoffish behavior as a no, but not Ian, that resilient fucker. His hand stayed there, rubbing softly on his inner thigh and causing more heat to flare through Mickey's body.   
  
Mickey snapped his eyes back to Ian's to see his pupil's completely blown and his cheeks slightly flushed. He was gorgeous.   
  
Fuck it. 

* * *

  
  
The door slammed against the wall so hard the doorknob definitely left an indent in the plaster. Ian had Mickey pushed up against the door, mouth firmly planted on Mickey's neck; sucking, licking, biting. His hands probably leaving bruises from where they were latched onto his hips. Mickey had one hand on the back of Ian's head keeping him in place, the other was fisted tightly onto fabric of Ian's shirt on his shoulder.  
  
"Fuck Mickey, you taste so good." Ian mumbled against his neck before he trailed his tongue from the hollow of Mickey's throat up to nibble on his earlobe. Mickey whimpered and rolled his hips against Ian's, breathing heavily from the close contact. He felt Ian exhale in a huff before lifting his head and crashing his lips hard against Mickey's. It was a harsh kiss at first; desperate and messy, tongues meeting outside the mouth occasionally and teeth nipping roughly on lips. It was everything Mickey wanted. Ian was pressed firmly against Mickey now, leg slotted in between Mickey's and grinding his crotch against Mickey's thigh. Ian trailed one hand from Mickey's hip to rub his cock through the rough material of his jeans. Mickey moaned into Ian's mouth and bucked his hips towards the pressure, gripping the back of Ian's head a little harder. The kiss deepened, but it was slower now, more deliberate and less desperate. Ian's lips were so fucking soft and his tongue glided filthily against Mickey's.   
  
The sound of a zipper broke Mickey from the spell he was under and he begrudgingly pulled back from the kiss. Breathing heavily he said "We should uh- we should close the door and make this show a little more private, huh?"  
  
Ian looked up into Mickey's eyes, his own eyes heavy lidded, lips swollen and red, his hair stuck up at awkward angles from Mickey grabbing at it. God, Mickey wanted him so bad.   
  
Ian growled and backed away from Mickey, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him away from the door to slam it shut before locking it. With his hand still tangled in Mickey's shirt he walked him backwards through the apartment, Mickey tripping over his feet and bumping into furniture. Ian chuckled softly and Mickey jerked his head up from watching his feet to look into Ian's eyes. He was smiling softly and there was a playful glint in his eyes that had Mickey staring a little too long.   
  
Ian's smile faded and turned into the equivalent of a snarl. He paused their movements, slamming Mickey up against the wall where he bounced off with a small _oof._ Eyes still firmly locked onto each other, blue on green, Ian unbuttoned Mickey's jeans, the zipper still down from earlier. Ian leaned down and sucked on Mickey's neck again while pushing his jeans down. Once the fabric was lose around his knees, Ian's hand slowly trailed up Mickey's thigh, making him shiver and feel like his skin was burning simultaneously. Ian smiled into his neck, still sucking and licking at every available patch of skin, no doubt leaving marks scattered across his neck.   
  
Ian's hand finally finished it's ascent and firmly settled on Mickey's cloth covered cock, rubbing lightly. Mickey audibly gasped and arched off the wall towards the pressure. Ian pulled away from his neck with a wet smackand attached his lips roughly to Mickey's, nipping on his bottom lip and increasing the pressure of his hand while slipping his tongue into Mickey's mouth. Mickey sighed and eagerly sucked on Ian's tongue, hands trailing down Ian's back to grab onto his ass and pull him forward bringing their bodies impossibly closer.   
  
They stayed like that for a few minutes, pushed up against the wall; touching, grinding, kissing, biting, gasping. It all came to an abrupt halt when Ian pulled away and backed up a few inches, eyes raking over Mickey taking in his heavy breathing, kiss swollen lips and his strong, slightly trembling thighs. Ian groaned before dropping to his knees and shuffling closer to Mickey. He pushed Mickey's shirt up enough to mouth above the line of his boxers, trailing his tongue over the cut of his hip before latching down to suck a bruise into the pale skin. Ian's hands reached up and landed on Mickey's thighs, squeezing quickly before reaching up to the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulling down the blue material. His hard cock bounced out and lightly tapped Ian against the cheek.   
  
Ian lifted his head from Mickey's skin and gripped the base of his cock in his fist. Mickey dropped his eyes quickly to make eye contact with Ian, conveying everything he needed to communicate. Ian made a small noise in the back of his throat and leaned in to lick a trail from his fist to the tip of Mickey's dick, sucking lightly when he got to the head. Mickey groaned and threw his head back against the wall where it landed with a dull sounding _thunk_. Ian chuckled before taking more of Mickey's length into his mouth, sucking lightly. Mickey gasped and grasped onto the back of Ian's head, fingers twisting in his hair, gently guiding him lower on his dick. Ian hummed causing Mickey's mouth to form an _O_ and arch off the wall further into Ian's warm mouth. Ian sucked harder, keeping his tongue pressed firmly to the underside of Mickey's cock and his hand squeezing and releasing in a delicious, pulsating pattern.   
  
"F-fuck. So good. Holy shit." Mickey moaned out. Ian hummed his agreement again, sending shockwaves through Mickey's body. Ian's hand that had previously been latched onto Mickey's thigh glided around to grab his ass and pull him further into his mouth. Ian bobbed his head up and down Mickey's cock a couple of times, maintaining that delicious suction from earlier.  
  
Eventually, Ian pulled back and focused on the head of his cock, sucking while licking the slit and moving his fist up and down. The hand on his ass squeezed again and Ian's finger dragged over Mickey's hole. Mickey hissed and twisted his hand into Ian's hair tighter, pulling unintentionally.  
  
"Bed." Mickey gasped. "Where's your fucking bed?"   
  
Ian leaned back from Mickey's dick, his hand still stroking leisurely. Spit was built up at the corners of his mouth, his smirking lips a delicious red color. "It's through the door to your right." He leaned in and flicked his tongue against the slit again teasingly. "Mmm, I'm having a lot of fun right here though."   
  
"Too fucking bad." Mickey growled while pulling on Ian's hair and dragging him up from the floor. Ian whimpered but went willingly, one hand dropping from Mickey's cock while the other stayed grasping his ass. When Ian was standing full height again, Mickey smashed his lips against Ian's and plunged his tongue into his mouth, chasing the faint taste of himself on Ian's tongue. He toed his sneakers off and stepped out of his clothing, leaving them in a pile against the wall. Ian's hand reached up to Mickey's hip and without breaking the contact of their lips he dragged him away from the wall and stumbled towards the bedroom.   
  
There was a small light on the bedside table, illuminating the room in a soft golden light. Ian's sheets were a dark grey and his comforter was white and fluffy. Those were the only details Mickey was able to absorb before Ian pushed him down onto the bed. Mickey chuckled and lay there half naked while Ian just raked his eyes over his body.   
  
Mickey licked his lips. "Come on Firecrotch, you've been up close and personal with the goods, take your fucking clothes off."  
  
Ian smirked and immediately curled his fingers into the bottom of his shirt and ripped it over his head. Mickey groaned and trailed his eyes over the planes of Ian's chest and abs, the sharp cut of his hips forming a V towards his crotch. Ian smiled and ran his hand tantalizingly down his chest before unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down in a hurry. Mickey leaned up and pulled his shirt off, leaving him fully exposed. He reached out for Ian and pulled him forward, running his tongue along that hypnotizing V and nipping softly.   
  
"Get the fuck down here." Mickey huffed out. Ian didn't need to be told twice. He shoved Mickey back hard on the mattress and crawled over him while Mickey scooted back to lay against the pillows. Ian leaned down and they both groaned when their bare chests came in contact, finally. Mickey bent his knees and framed them around Ian's hips, so Ian was firmly settled between his legs. Ian had one hand gripping Mickey's cheek and the other laying on the pillow while he leaned down to capture Mickey's lips in a kiss.   
  
Mickey was never big on kissing, didn't really find if necessary. But he thought that he would be content with kissing Ian all night. His cock had other plans though. He trailed his hands down Ian's back, gripping at the hard muscles he felt and latched onto Ian's ass, pulling him in to grind against his crotch. Ian moaned into Mickey's mouth and bit his lip before pulling back to nibble on his jaw and make his way towards his earlobe, sucking it into his mouth before breathing huskily into his ear.   
  
"'m gonna fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling me all day tomorrow."  
  
Mickey shuddered and rolled his hips up against Ian again. "Stop talking and fuckin' do it."   
  
Ian growled and pulled back from Mickey, his chest feeling a cold rush of air from the lack of contact. Ian pulled on Mickey's hip, non-verbally telling him to roll over.  Mickey moved so fast to rest on his hands and knees, not even giving a fuck how eager it made him look. Because he _was_ eager. He can't remember the last time he fucked on a bed, let alone with someone as attractive as Ian and he was ready to have a dick in his ass ten minutes ago.   
  
He faintly heard the sounds of Ian opening and closing the drawer next to the bed, his head too fogged with arousal to pay attention to much else. He did however hear a faint _click_ and felt Ian lean down to kiss the nape of his neck. Mickey shivered at the contact. Ian smiled into his skin before nipping lightly and trailing his lips down between Mickey's shoulder blades before leaning back and grabbing onto Mickey's ass cheek with one hand to pull it back, rubbing at the exposed ring of muscle with his finger. Mickey moaned and tried pushing back into the pressure, but Ian had a firm grip on his hip, keeping him in place.   
  
Ian teased Mickey for awhile, running his finger up and down his crack, pausing occasionally to rub at his hole again. Mickey was panting already, all the foreplay and teasing taking a toll on his patience. He turned his head towards Ian who looked just as wrecked as Mickey felt, his cock straining and leaking against his lower abdomen.   
  
"Hurry the fuck up, asshole. I'm not made of glass." Mickey bit out.   
  
Ian chuckled and continued rubbing at his hole before slowly, oh so slowly, pressing the tip of his finger passed the tight ring of muscle. Mickey's mouth dropped open in a silent moan and he rocked back infinitesimally to take the finger a little deeper. Ian seemed to be done teasing for now and pushed the finger all the way in before drawing it back slowly.   
  
"Jesus Mickey, you're so fucking tight." Ian whispered.  
  
Mickey could only hum in response, enjoying Ian's finger moving in and out of him at a leisurely pace. It wasn't long until he felt the cool sensation of more lube being drizzled over his ass before Ian pressed a second finger in next to the first, pumping them a little faster; circling, scissoring, prodding, looking for that specific spot that would make Mickey whimper.   
  
Once he found it, Mickey gasped sharply and mumbled out a weak "fuck" while trying to push his hips back. Ian moaned lowly and nudged his fingers against his prostate a few more times before withdrawing his fingers from Mickey's ass completely. He leaned forward, his cock dragging over Mickey's ass as he leaned down to suck on the sensitive skin beneath his ear lobe before reaching over to the nightstand for the condom wrapper.    
  
Ian leaned up to roll the condom down his dick, stroking a few times and hissing at the contact. "I'm gonna fuck you now. You're gonna feel so good, Mick. Fuck."  
  
Mickey could barely nod in response, arching his back a little more to get a better angle. Ian had one hand on Mickey's hip, the other was wrapped around the base of his dick to guide it towards Mickey's ass, teasingly rubbing the head against Mickey's hole a few times before pushing his hips forward, his cock finally breaching the tight ring of muscle. Mickey moaned, he was a fucking mess already. He probably wouldn't last long if he was being honest with himself.   
  
Ian pushed forward slowly, more and more of his cock entering Mickey's body until his thighs were completely flushed with Mickey's. Ian was breathing heavily and he leaned down until his chest was plastered against Mickey's back, mouthing at the nape of his neck and barely rotating his hips to soak in the feeling of Mickey surrounding his cock completely. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Ian's mouth laving over different spots on Mickey's neck until he grew impatient.  
  
Mickey grunted and pushed his hips back against Ian's, "any day now, Firecrotch."  
  
Ian breathed a laugh against his skin before biting down on his shoulder and drawing his hips back only to snap them forward sharply. Mickey's breath stuttered and he bit his lip so hard he was sure he would draw blood.   
  
Ian didn't relent after that, pushing in and out of Mickey at a pace that made it difficult for either of them to catch their breath. With every push forward, Ian would shift slightly, actively searching out Mickey's prostate. There was no mistaking when he found it, the loud moan coming from Mickey's mouth surprising even himself. Ian paused once he heard it, pressed firmly against that spot, torturing him in the most wonderful way.   
  
Ian leaned back grabbing onto Mickey's hair to pull his head back roughly while pressing forward the smallest amount. "How's that feel, huh?"  
  
Mickey could only whimper, to focused on the pressure on his prostate to hear anything that wasn't the beating of his heart. Ian, seemingly unsatisfied with Mickey's silence, pulled his hips back and snapped them forward, jabbing sharply against that spot.   
  
"I asked you a question." Ian said with a small snarl in his voice, thrusting forward again.   
  
Mickey cried out. "Fuck Ian, f-fuck. So good."   
  
Ian moaned, letting go of Mickey's hair and grabbing his hips to pound relentlessly into Mickey. "You feel so fucking amazing. God, your ass is perfect."    
  
Mickey slumped down, resting his cheek and shoulders down on the mattress, the new angle hitting him so sweetly he saw fucking stars. One hand was fisted in the sheets next to his head, the FUCK on his knuckles getting tangled in the grey sheets while the other trailed down to wrap tightly around his cock. He moaned at the contact, moving his hand in time with Ian's thrusts.   
  
"I-I'm not gonna last much longer. Fuck."  
  
Ian's hand released Mickey's hip and moved down to smack Mickey's ass twice, before grabbing it. He pulled back the muscle to watch himself enter Mickey a handful of times, moaning loudly before releasing his ass and pushing Mickey's hand out of the way.   
  
"I got you." Ian moved his hand quickly, the pressure and pace so fucking perfect. Mickey was a mess; leaking all over Ian's fist, his face flushed bright red and he thrusting back whenever Ian thrust forward, trying to feel him deeper and harder.   
  
Mickey felt that wonderful heat coiling in his gut. "F-fuck, fuck man, I'm g-gonna-"  
  
Ian grunted and pushed his hips forward impossibly faster, the slapping sounds louder than the rain pounding on the window. Mickey's mouth dropped open and his eyes clenched shut so tightly. It took five more thrusts from Ian to have Mickey moaning loudly and coming over Ian's hand, his hips jerking forward erratically while Ian stroked him through his orgasm.   
  
Ian hummed and thrust forward a few more times before pausing with his hips flushed firmly against Mickey's, releasing into the condom and squeezing Mickey's hip tightly.   
  
It was fucking perfect.   
  
After a minute or two, Ian pulled out and threw the condom carelessly in the room somewhere. Mickey collapsed forward, not caring if he was laying in his own come. Ian threw himself down on his back beside Mickey, the bed bouncing slightly. They lay there in silence, the only noises being made were the soft sounds of thunder in the distance and the two of them trying to school their breathing back to a normal rhythm.   
  
Ian turned on his side so he was facing Mickey, one hand pillowed under his head. He smiled lazily and Mickey did his best to return the gesture, but he's pretty sure all he managed to do was make a painful looking face. Ian chuckled softly and ran his other hand up and down Mickey's forearm lightly.   
  
"You know, for someone who "doesn't do that type of shit" you sure know how to take a dick." Ian said, complete with air quotes.  
  
Mickey let out a loud belly laugh at that, smile stretching across his face. "Fuck you, you're such an asshole."  
  
Ian laughed again and squeezed Mickey's forearm gently before leaning in for a kiss. Mickey sighed against Ian's lips, so fucking content with his decision to have a few drinks. They stayed like that, kissing lazily before Mickey pulled back, but not before nipping Ian's top lip.   
  
"You got a bathroom in this shithole?"   
  
"Down the hall, on your left. Light switch is next to the door."   
  
Mickey hummed before heaving himself up off the bed and walking towards the door, feeling Ian's eyes raking over his exposed back and ass. If he was clenching his ass muscles a little bit, no one had to know but him. The harsh light of the bathroom made him flinch slightly, his eyes not adjusted to bright lights quite yet. He took a moment to admire the hickey's littering his neck, pressing two fingers to the darkest one underneath his ear. Christ, Mandy is never going to shut the fuck up about this. He took a piss and washed up quickly before leaving the bathroom. He stopped to shimmy into his boxers and jeans that were still slumped against the wall, carrying his shoes into Ian's room.   
  
When he walked in, Ian was laying on his back, the sheet covering his groin and his hand trailing lazily up and down his chest. He looked at Mickey, half dressed and holding his shoes and frowned.  
  
"You leaving already?"  
  
Mickey sat down on the corner of the mattress, pulling his shoes on. "Yeah man, still got a lot of stuff I gotta do for the truck before I call it a night. _Someone_ distracted me." He said, looking over his shoulder and giving Ian a quick wink.  
  
Ian sighed dramatically but said nothing else. Mickey finished tying his sneakers (double knotted, you can never be too sure) and stood up, walking around the mattress to grab his shirt. Pulling it over his head, he walked over to where Ian was laying and leaned down to give him a deep, passionate kiss, his hand resting on Ian's cheek.   
  
"I'll see you for lunch tomorrow, Firecrotch." He whispered against Ian's lips before straightening up and walking out of the room, out of the apartment, out of the building. Once outside again in the pouring rain, he let a small smile dance it's way across his face before reaching into his pocket for a well deserved cigarette, placing the filter between his lips. The usual tightness he felt in his chest was surprisingly absent, replaced with a light bubbly feeling. So gay. But Mickey certainly didn't mind the happy feeling radiating through his body.  
  
Standing under the protective awning of the building, his eyes swept up and down the street surveying his surroundings before he noticed a bright orange piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper of his truck.   
  
It was a fucking parking ticket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt at writing sex!! So it might feel a little rushed and sloppy, but I'll get better with practice. ;]  
> come hang with me on [tumblr! ](http://mckmlkvch.tumblr.com/)


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